


Hello, Stranger

by Zoroastrian



Series: It Ends With Chaos [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Because I still can't accept that she would stay dead, F/M, Ressurection fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-05 07:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15165242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoroastrian/pseuds/Zoroastrian
Summary: When God and Amara left, he gave a gift to Castiel as a reward for not giving up on what he believed in.





	1. Liberating Vipers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural © Kripke/CW
> 
> Original Characters © Zoroastrian/Me

 

**Chapter 1: Liberating Vipers**

 

**||||**

 

_You have done nothing but try to fulfill your own destiny, my strong boy. You have experienced things a father should not have allowed. I felt your pain and yet you continued to fight, and for that I give you back a part of your own soul. A reminder that I am not without my love for my children._

 

**||||**

 

**Vatican City**

 

It was the bright streak across the sky and the glorious crack of thunder that jarred the clergyman out of his bed. Dark brown eyes glancing around the shadowed room, the red of his blanket bleeding into the black background. A tired sigh was released as he closed his eyes, breathing in deeply as another crack lit the room. The storm outside the ancient building raged, whistling in his ear.

 

His eyes once again opened wide, searching around the room for the sound. Out of the corner of his eye, a figure stood. The unmistakable shape of a woman. Turning his head, thunder and lightning split the sky once more, showing the small woman’s face. Her eyes as black as obsidian. The clergyman inhaled quickly, a cruel smile spread across her face as the light faded. Launching from her place, she grabbed his face, covering his mouth just as he was about to speak.

 

Her ebony orbs stared at him, the venomous grin plastered against her features widening. “Don’t scream father, you don’t want to wake your friends.” Her eyes flicked, revealing deep brown irises. With her hand still over his mouth, she grabbed his nightshirt, pulling him to a seated position. Looking around, she whispering once more. “You seem like a charming and chivalrous man; would you help a lady find her baby cousin?”

 

It didn’t take long for the man to lead her into the museum, two other women waiting in the center, looking up and watching the ceiling. The shorter of the women looked down, watching as her older sibling pushed the clergyman to the ground. She tilted her head to the side as the man looked up slowly, his body shaking. The taller blond woman groaned in annoyance before pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

 

“Let’s hurry up Vetis, this place is giving me a headache.” Crouching, Vetis looked at him and smiled softly, laying a gentle hand on the side of his face. “Listen closely child, earlier today my sisters and I felt a sudden feeling come over us. One we hadn’t felt for some time now, but today a woman appeared in this museum. All we wish to know is where we can find her. No harm will come to you if you cooperate, do you understand?” The man’s eyes widened as they slowly rolled back into his head, “of course mistress.”

 

Standing, the man asked for her cell-phone, quickly dialing a number before placing against his ear. It took him a moment before someone answered, to which he quickly rattled something off in Italian. Another moment passed, before he handed it back to Vetis. She looked at him expectantly as she shoved the cell into her back pocket.

 

“Well, human, where is she?”

 

“With the police, arrested for indecent exposure on hallowed ground.”

 

The oldest sister, Naamah, groaned and rolled her eyes as she twisted her wrist. The clergyman’s head quickly snagging at a 90-degree angle, before dropping like a sack of potatoes. The blonde demoness took the cigarette from between her teeth, blowing out a large plume of grey smoke. Nodding to her sisters, she vanished from the room, followed swiftly by the others.

 

**||||**

 

**Lebanon, Kansas**

 

Sam stood there for a moment, his heartbeat in his ears as he watched the woman stand at the balcony. Her own eyes wide, her breath catching in her throat as they continued to stare at each other. Her hair was bright, mimicking the few photos the brother’s kept of her with them. Dean’s leather jacket covering her shoulders and the oversized plaid shirt and jeans hanging loosely on her body.

 

“Mom?” Sam finally spoke, a hand gripping the back of a chair to keep himself steady as she turned for the stairs. Dean’s voice, nothing but a murmur to him as he walked into the war room. Only a minute passed before she was standing in front of him, a hand slowly reaching up to touch his face. “Sammy?” She spoke softly. He gave a nod, looking up to find his brother, a small smile playing on his lips.

 

He was never really one to get carried away with his emotions, but he would be willing to make an exception. He quickly wrapped his large body around his mother, burying his face in her hair and closing his eyes. Mary wrapped her own arms around him, her soft sobs breaking his heart as their legs gave out, forcing them to the ground. He breathed her in, the faint smell of jasmine and the ocean, the scent bringing back long forgotten memories. It didn’t take long before he felt the fresh trail of tears run down his cheek.

 

Her own heart breaking, even with the small description of her sons’ lives, her mind racing. The full grown man that held on so desperately, whose body had been tested, and whose mind had been pulled asunder. This once small mewling child, who she last saw was now someone she didn’t know. Pulling away, she wiped the tears from her face, chuckling softly as she looked at Sam.

 

“Hiya, Sammy.”

 

“Hi, mom.”

 

Dean walked over, kneeling next to them as they turned, his own eyes slightly glassy. Mary tilted her head at her oldest, reaching out to bring him in for a hug. Dean pressed his forehead against his mother’s as Sam brought his own in.

 

Castiel stood off to the side, watching quietly, his grace swelling at the reunited family. He had been working alongside the Winchesters for so long, it was good to finally see them happy, reunited with their mother. Looking back to the staircase, his brow furrowed for a moment, when a sudden vise grip pulled at his chest. A scream escaped his lips as he doubled over and dropped, breaking up the precious moment between mother and sons.

 

“Castiel?”

 

“CAS?!”

 

Dean grabbed Castiel’s shoulders, rolling the angel over as his brother helped restrain him. “Cas, what’s wrong?” Cas let in a sharp breath, his face going pale as he let out a strangled noise. His body twitches violently for a moment before he slowly began to relax, his arms uncoiling from his chest. The pained expression becoming calmer as his electric blue eyes fluttered open.

 

“Castiel, is everything alright?” Sam gripped the angel’s upper arm, helping him sit up against the doorway. Castiel gripped the sides of his head, rubbing his temples to ease the pain that still sat there. Gazing up, he looked between the two brothers.

 

“I . . . I don’t know. It felt as if something jammed itself right into the center of my grace. I do not wish to experience that again, whatever it was.”


	2. A Songbird's Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural © Kripke/CW
> 
> Original Characters © Zoroastrian/Me

 

**Chapter 2: A Songbird’s Call**

**||** **•** **||**

 

The first sensation she felt was the futon that she had slept upon, much softer than the bed she had in the jail cell. She also didn't have a pillow or blanket, the warmth of the comforter encompassing her form. Twisting the edge in her hand, she curled her legs in, nuzzling her pillow with a content sigh.

 

She lay there a few short minutes, calmly breathing in the smell of jasmine before the sound of a door slid open. She tensed, daring to open her eyes ever so slightly. Through her blurred vision, white socks and deep blue pants slowly turned her way as the door was closed again, taking up her vision when the person knelt down beside her. Not moving, the sudden aroma of sulfur invaded her nose, sending a volt through her chest causing her to seize up, a hand was placed on her head.

 

Whoever this person was quickly grabbed her shoulders, yelling something before rolling her body to her side. Memories flooded her mind, pain raking her body as if long rusty nails were being hammered into her joints. Twisting and driving deeper as another set of hands took hold of her head.

 

A pit. Smoke and bloodied eyes flashed through her mind. His cruel and malicious smile taunting her while she shook. Laughing when she attempted to scream, her voice catching in her throat.

 

Two brothers. Each with dripping green eyes, and one with hair made out of snakes. Their hands curved like the talons of an eagle, attempting to tear at her body.

 

A light. Bright hues of blue, warm and comforting, soft arms winding their way around her. Soothing vibrations moved throughout her body, gently calming her muscles.

 

Her eyes fluttered open, the blurred figures of whoever, entered her vision. Golden rays of hair flowed over her, a smooth voice called to her as a hand passed over her forehead. Calming circles began to be drawn as slumber began to take over once more, the golden rays disappearing into darkness.

 

“Everything is alright Proserpine, everything is alright.”

 

 **||** **•** **||**

 

Naamah gently stroked the younger demon’s hair, humming softly to herself. She kept her eyes closed, head bowed in relaxation whilst warm ocean breeze drifted in through the open window. Since Lucifer had been pushed back in the cage, and the bastard Crowley took the throne, she fled with her sisters to the island of Yamatai inside the Dragon’s Triangle. A safe haven for only the most loyal to the Morning Star, but even on this island, only one could live as ruler.

 

So she took over alongside her sisters, the youngest Hecate, goddess of witchcraft and magic, the demon that sent visions to the nun for her to write the Book of the Damned. The middle Vetis, the temptress of the holy, the very first blood eyed demon. The middle Hecate, goddess of witchcraft and magic, the demon that sent visions to the nun for her to write the Book of the Damned. And herself, oldest daughter of Alastair, the grand torturer of hell, and the first black eyed demon.

 

They had lived many lives, from a simple monster, torturing and feeding off the fears of the humans on Earth to generals and lieutenants of Hell’s armies. Feared by the younger and weaker of their species. But with all the glory of being in charge, even they knew the value of family. The last of the pure-blood demons, Proserpine, was the treasured by the oldests. Yet here she laid, mopped in sweat, terrors consuming her dreams, and her body shaking involuntarily.

 

Hecate slid the shoji screen open carefully with her foot, balancing a tray of green tea with one hand and edamame in the other. Making her way to her sister, she sat down rather gracefully, crossing her ankles and knelt to the left of her cousin. “Is she still running a fever?” Hecate place the trays between herself and Naamah, before picking up the teapot and pouring a glass for her sister. The older nodded, reached for the small hand cloth and cold water, gently pressing the cold cloth on Proserpine’s forehead.

 

“It has been almost four years since she passed. Wherever she went after seems to have taken part of her being. The soft black spots that once made her whole have been, cleansed. She is reacting badly to being back on the physical plain.”

 

“Wait, cleansed? That’s ridiculous, nothing can cleanse a pureblood. We were never really human in the first place.”

 

Naamah nodded again, moving a hand to pick up her tea and take sip. Placing it back down, she opened her eyes to look at her sister.

 

“There is no need to get defensive Hecate, if anything we should just be grateful that part of our family has returned. As well as thank whoever brought her back to us. Our family has endured enough at the hands of those damned Winchesters and that pompous salesman, Crowley.” The witch goddess gave a frustrated sigh, popping edamame into her mouth. She never liked to be on the run, they were once feared by all of Hell, now they were reduced to staying on a small island in the middle of a cursed sea. Lilith, Azazel, Tom, Cain, Abbadon, their father. All taken from them, and yet the few that still lived refused to fight for their rightful place on the throne. Ramiel, Dagon, Asmodeus. ‘ _The cowards_ ,’ she thought, rocking back to get to her feet.

 

Turning to the door she stretched, padding her way through. Before closing the screen, she looked at her cousin, the sheen of sweat across her face and chest shining as bits of sun made their way in. Hecate felt a wave of guilt crash into her, the pit in her stomach only getting heavier when she closed the screen and left down the path to the main house.

 

 **||** **•** **||**

 

The hot breath and the deep panting sound woke her. Her body ached when she turned her head away from the rancid fumes of the dead. There was the sound of a dog whining that caused her to slowly open her eyes. She looked around slowly, even the muscles in her eyes straining whilst she took in the space around her. The room was a deep brown, white paper screens over the doors, a deep blue rug beside her. A large black beast, laying casually on the mat, it’s heavy head on her comforters. Four orange eyes staring at her, it’s long tail fanned against the tatami.

 

 “Garm?” she rasped, her throat dry and unused. Moving her arms, she gradually pushed herself to a sitting position. Turning to the black dog, she gave a small smile, rubbing the space between its torn ears. Casting her gaze to the door, she pulled her legs in as she attempted to stand. Garm stood quickly, pressing his head under her arm, allowing her to use him to get to her feet. Straightening up, her legs felt like jello, almost giving out if it hadn’t been for the obscenely large hellhound.

 

Guiding her to the door, she stuck her head out, looking around the open corridor. A small rock garden in the center. A koi pond, bench and cherry blossom tree accented the area. A familiar call rang out as they walked along the path surrounding the tranquil space.

 

The young demon allowed the hound to lead her to an open screen.

 

An oriental dollarbird’s song floating through the warm ocean air.


	3. Little Prayers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural © Kripke/CW
> 
> Original Characters © Zoroastrian/Me

**Chapter 3: Little Prayers**

**||·||**

 

“So, he just walked right up to you and said he was ‘British Men of Letters’?”

 

“Yeah, he and this woman Toni Bevell, there was something off about her. She kept staring like she was trying to stop herself from shooting me. She probably would have if Mick or whatever hadn’t stopped her from getting close.” Dean’s frown deepened. Some guy had stopped Sam out on a grocery run, claiming to want to work with the American hunters and “rid the nation of monsters”. Dean stood in the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest as Sam and Mary continued to restock the fridge.

 

Turning to Castiel, who had been sitting quietly on the other side of the table, he quirked an eyebrow. The angel was just barely smiling, the corners of his mouth turned upwards ever so slightly. A sort of far away look in his eye. “Cas, what do you think?” No response. Sam looked over to the angel, then to his brother, shrugging as he placed a box of granola on the top shelf in his cabinet. Closing the door he sat upon the stool beside Castiel, “Cas, you alright?” All he got in return was a growing smile and a dopey chuckle from the otherwise stoic Seraph. Turning to his brother, Dean’s face held nothing but a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

 

“Did he just, chuckle?”

 

“Yeah, he's been doing that lately.”

 

Sam gazed back at Cas, clapping loudly to snap him out of whatever daze he was in. The angel jerked back, his eyes unfocused as he tried to locate the sudden pitched sound. The brothers waited for a moment, watching their friend correct himself, which didn't go very well as embarrassment flooded his face.

 

Cas lifted his left hand to the back of his neck, not meeting their gaze, “I apologize. My focus was… somewhere else.” Dean threw his hands in the air, and shook his head. This problem had been going on for a week. Ever since the angel had that seizure, he would space out in the middle of conversations. It was weird, and got creepier when Dean walked into the kitchen for a midnight snack, only to find Castiel standing in the middle of the very dark room, chuckling to himself.  Dean damn near soiled his boxers as he silently slinked back to his room. “No shit Sherlock. You’re 'focus’ has been elsewhere for the past week. What the hell is going on man?”

 

Castiel still couldn't find the courage to look up, his eyes casted off to the salt shakers at the table.

 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been feeling aftershocks of the universe still trying to put itself back together since God and Amara left, as well as resonances of Lucifer. I don’t know why it's been making me act this way, but I will try to pay attention more.”

 

Sam and Dean once again turned to look at each other. Dean felt some guilt curl in his gut, he hadn't really thought of the trauma that might have afflicted the angel. Sitting at the table, he rubbed a hand over his face, heaving a sigh.

 

“Hey, it's my bad. I didn't need to get pissed at you, man. Just, I would like you to listen a bit more.”

 

Castiel finally looked up, nodding as he breathed in. “I think we should be cautious, listen to their proposal thoroughly, before telling others about them. The more who know, the better prepared we are for any retaliation.”

 

**||•||**

 

Castiel closed the door to his room, sliding the lock gently. He breathed in as he turned to press his back against the wood. Electric blue eyes closing, the breath of his vessel escaping his mouth. Opening his eyes, he pushed off his door, his hands going to the knot at his neck as he began to undo his tie. Folding the garment, he placed it on the top of his dresser. Shrugging off his trench coat and jacket, he hung both over the back of his desk chair. It didn't take long before he was in his boxers and a grey shirt.

 

While angels didn't need to sleep, just lying silently on the comforter with his eyes closed, helped charge his grace a bit. He laid there for a moment, the gentle hum of the bunker creating a soothing aura, which was quickly broken when she spoke.

 

_I would really like to bap those two over the head._

 

“Dean would probably shoot you, and Sam would give a 'bitchface’ as his brother calls it.”

 

_Yeah, I couldn't care less. They need a good bapping._

 

“Meg please, I am tired. I'm still recharging from Lucifer's possession.”

 

_That too! Whenever I see you again, I'm gonna smack you so hard you’re meat suit’s soul will feel it. I can't believe you let that prick jump your bones. Even during the apocalypse, I would never let him poss-_

 

“Meg.”

 

_What?_

 

“I like when you get protective, it's adorable.”

 

_Shut up._

 

Castiel chuckled, settling deeper into the pillow.

 

_Why am I so sweet on you Clarence?_

   

“I don’t know.”

 

She stopped talking for a moment, letting Castiel fall back into the gentle rhythm of his own breathing. Since the rather disastrous seizure at the beginning of the week, his mind seemed to clear. The dark blotches that attacked his own thoughts from Lucifer’s possession disappearing, slowly replaced with brilliant white pieces of new grace. It was only two days later when he heard her prayer, murmuring her name in response only to get an equally confused answer. Since then, he had been having rather interesting and amusing conversations with the demoness, who he thought had abandoned him after the angel tablet debacle. The idea that she had left him and refused to come out of hiding, in fear of the tablets power corrupting, like with the souls from Purgatory, dancing around his head. While this idea was not the truth, it made him question his own intentions of trying to befriend a demon, as he ran from Naomi and her brainwashed angelic slaves.

 

He had asked her where she had gone into hiding, a honestly sad and humorless chuckle was what he got in return. She told him about Crowley, how he had beaten her, the sadistic smile she was far too familiar with now seared into her mind. She told him about the way the Winchesters looked at her through the back window of their car, Dean’s startled expression, and Sam’s horrified face. She told him about the white hot, searing pain that went through her abdomen. As she spoke, the obvious trauma and ache she felt, forced its way into her voice. He had always seen her, even when he had lost his mind, as this strong and independent creature. But now he could see, even if she was made up of fire and brimstone, a rose has it’s thorns to protect itself from the harm of others.

 

**||•||**

 

Sam checked his watch for a moment, looking around the older barn outside of Lebanon. His brother leaning against an old broken down tractor, his mother in the rafters, a rifle set against a barrel and trained on the front door. Castiel on the other hand, was standing in the veil, watching in secret just in case there was a need for a heavy hitter. After another day of arguing about how to deal with the Men of Letters from across the pond, they finally agreed to meet the brits, but on their own ground. One of the barns that they had re-enforced with supernatural warding, they knew the place well enough, tortured a few monsters directly where Sam was standing.

 

45 minutes had passed since they had arrived in the decrepit building, and 10 since the initial meeting time. The tallest brother shifted in his spot at the center of the room. He did not trust these newcomers, whether it was from the way they met or from one of the four files they found on the European division of the Men Of Letters.

 

The smallest file, which contained only a few pages about the Brits, described them as the MI6 of the MoL, compared to the other three. The Mediterranean members who were more into spell casting and tapping into dark magic, the Scandinavian members who were brute force mixed with manipulation of the elements, and the central European groups, who were mostly concentrating on the termination of monsters, and seemed to constantly clash since WWII and the Thule.

 

“I don't like this, they should’ve been here at 8.” Sam turned to his brother, the same slightly worried expression as he reached to the small in his back for his pearl handled Colt. “Cas, can you get a read on them?” It took a moment of silence for the familiar flutter of wings to permeate the barn.

 

“It is so much easier to cross planes of existence with my wings restored, I must thank Chuck for fixing this.” He beamed at the brothers, Sam giving a small chuckle while Dean simply grunted. “As for the British Men of Letters, I sense two large SUVs carrying four each on approach.”

 

They all tensed for a moment, straining their hearing as the faint sound of dual V8 engines slowly grew. Dean looked up to his mother, nodding for her to get ready as he walked back to the tractor, Castiel fading back into the veil. Turning to the large barn doors, Sam straightened up, the rumble of the SUVs finally emitting from right outside the building. When the engines were cut, the brothers had to wait once more, the mid summer wind rattling the barn.

 

Finally, the doors opened, revealing two men and a women, all three around the age of the brothers. As the tallest man, who wore a fine tailored suit, closed the doors behind them, the other man walked up to Sam. He smiled kindly, turning to the woman beside him, her face less than friendly. When the other man joined his partners, a tense silence settled around them, the air of hostility ever so present despite the shorter man’s kind smile.

 

“It is good to see you again Sam, hopefully you have thought about our proposition.”

 

“Yeah he told me, Mick, right?” Dean interrupted. Mick nodded turning to the others.

 

“This young woman beside me is Lady Antonia Bevell, and my tall friend here is Arthur Ketch.”

 

“Yeah, thanks for the intro, but let’s skip the niceties, what do you want?” Sam turned to glare at his brother, Ketch giving an amused chuckle, a sly smile going to the older Winchester. Mick cleared his throat, looking between the brothers as he spoke. “Let me paint you a picture of a world without monsters.”

 

They watched the man closely, Mary lifting her head to watch from over the scope. “A world without demons...” Castiel shifted, anxiety building in his chest as he thought about Meg. “A world without any of those little buggers, that go bump in the night. Of a world where no one has to die because of the supernatural. Of a new world, a better world.” The brother’s gazes were hard, the kind of gaze that would send chills down the spine of a common man, but these were no common men and women.

 

“We of the British Men of Letters have watched over the years as your country was thrown through the Judeo-Christian apocalypse, the unfortunate domination of the Leviathan, as well as the all consuming fear of the Darkness.

 

“And it has come to our attention, that with the death of the American Men of Letters many years ago, you have been in need of assistance.”

 

Sam crossed his arms, shifting his weight, as a slightly unimpressed look formed on Dean as he came walking over. They stood there, the tension from before still present as another silence settled. It was only broken by the overly annoyed sigh of Lady Bevell. “Oh this is ridiculous, we are tired of seeing you foolish “children” attempt to fix the problems you specifically caused, only to create a new one. We are here to help end the obvious cycle, and help organize you neanderthals. Do you understand?”

 

Dean sneered at her as Sam spoke, “We understand, we just want to know why you didn’t step in when the apocalypse was tearing apart the world, and when Dick Roman was buying up companies left and right?” Toni rolled her eyes, hands resting on her hips, looking back up to the man. “Well we were dealing with the issues in the UK, storms that would knockout power in entire cities, our people getting eaten by Roman’s agents. We were just as busy as you were,” Ketch responded, the smirk still plastered against his face.

 

They still didn’t seem entirely convinced by the statements, the ever present faces of irritation still staring back at them. Mick pinched the bridge of his nose, “I know you don’t trust us, but we are willing to work with you. To better understand how you American hunters work, and open up our arsenal to you. So if we start off small, maybe we will eventually create a good working relationship.”

 

The brother’s looked at each other, a silent conversation going between them for a moment. Finally turning back to the others, Dean stepped forward and held out his hand. “You’re right, we don’t trust you, but if havin’ to put up with you means puttin’ down the bad guy then fine.” He narrowed his eyes as Mick took his hand. Dean kept his grip, pulling the shorter man in, his voice low and threatening. “Just know that if you start shit that we don’t like, you’ll have a bigger problem on your hands then the fuckin’ monsters.” Mick felt a shiver roll through his body. Sure the reports that he had read told him that the Winchesters were two of the best hunters in the world, but they also said that these two were feared by some of the other hunters as well as the monsters they had interrogated the moment they got to the states. And when they made a threat, they weren’t gonna hold back.


	4. Demonic Reeducation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural © Kripke/CW
> 
> Original Characters © Zoroastrian/Me

**Chapter 4: Demonic Reeducation**

 

**||•||**

 

Meg scowled her older ‘cousin’. The demon made up of horns, thick black smoke, silver stripes, and colossal wings, simply stood on the other side of the room. A horned eye ridge quirked upwards as the seemingly uninterested face just lazily gazed back. Meg was a lot of things, stubborn, violent, calculated (at times), and above all, determined. So she wasn't going to back down from Naamah when she suggested that Meg be called, once again, by her hell name.

 

“Proserpine, stop acting as if you are a newly made demon. Azazel gave you this name and you were called that for thousands of years in hell, allowing yourself to act like a child over a name, one of which you took from a previous meat suit, is ridiculous. Just calm down for me, please, you know that all I’m trying to do is help you get back onto your feet.”

 

The other demon, covered in black dead roses, thorns by the hundreds, wispy black smoke trailing from the top of her head, squared her shoulders. Bright cracks pulsed over her form, like the perfect picture of lightning against a black sky. The older demon’s black heart sank at the light that was peeking through the scales, rays of her original soul shining bright. Meg didn’t seem to notice the shift in the metaphorical atmosphere, as she turned to leave the common area.

 

But when the door suddenly shut in her face, her thorns rose like the hackles of a cat, as she slowly turned back around. From her place on the floor, Vetis’ hand was raised in a tight fist. Her own blood red eyes watching closely, flaming scales rippling every other second. Russet plume pulsating behind her head, crimson lightning flashing. Vetis narrowed her eyes, the slight upturn at the corner of her ragged lips, making Meg’s anger flare. Her eyes flashed obsidian as she reached back to the door. Her fingers curved as she fought against Vetis’ own power, slowly opening the screen as it buckled under the opposing forces. Splintering and fracturing while the paper screen tore. They were locked in battle of opening or closing a door.

 

While the three demonesses glared at each other, the normally obnoxious and boisterous Hecate placed her head in her hands, the look of a defeated women plastered against her face. The heat building from the other hell spawns becoming the bane of her existence was too much for her growing migraine to handle. Leering at the screen that was now just slivers of wood, she whispered an incantation, instantly teleporting Meg to the other side of the screen. The unexpected yelp broke the younger’s concentration, allowing the door to slam shut, bursting as it closed.

 

“Just leave Meg, but be back at the hot springs for another healing session in two hours. I’ll deal with my sisters.”

 

The silhouette stood there for a moment before walking off the the right, leaving the descendants of Alistair in the silence of the room. Moments passed, Hecate continuing to rub circles in the left side of her head, Vetis still staring in disbelief at where Meg was just standing, Naamah staring icily at her younger sister. The blonde’s hands curling into a fist as she opened her mouth to speak, only to be cut off by the witch goddess.

 

“Don’t, just don’t. For all the boasting about being one of the best demons in hell, you are one of the dumbest people that I have met.”

 

“You watch your tone with me sister.”

 

“No, what does it take to get through that thick skull of yours? Do you not see that Meg is not the same creature we were raised alongside? You know the stories, she had been working with the Winchesters and their angel. Her time spent with them has probably given her look on life, and wherever she was in the after life hasn’t helped change that.

 

“So back off and leave her be, because unlike you, not all of us were born demons. We were human once and she seems to be experiencing it all over again after thousands of years of nothing but brimstone, blood, and death. Now I’m going to try to get rid of this migraine and eat something before meeting Meg. You should educate yourself on how to be a better sister, and try to tap into that human side that never existed.”

 

Exiting the room, Naamah’s black eyes bore holes into the cushion that was once occupied. Coming out of her daze, Vetis stood from the table, heaving a sigh and walking to the destroyed door. Gently running her fingers over what was left of the screen, she turned to snap, quickly cleaning the splinters that had scattered around the room. Looking to her sister, she opened and closed her mouth to make a comment when Naamah turned her steely glare to the temptress. A shiver rolled down her spine, “I’m gonna get a new door.” She gave a sheepish huff of laughter, as she turned back to the screen. “Even I can’t fix doors with these marvelous demon powers.”

 

**||•||**

 

Meg walked down the footpath, winding her way to a large staircase. Descending deeper into the bamboo forest that surrounded the mansion she had called home for the past month and a half. Walking down, the Tōrō stone lanterns lit up as she walked past, the sun barely shining through the thick stalks. It was mostly quiet, other than the occasional call of a songbird, it was almost serene.

 

Coming to a clearing, she took off her shoes before letting her feet touch the cool green grass. In front of her was a small waterfall that gently lead into a creek that was a few feet lower than the clearing as she walked to the raised bank. Sitting down at the edge, she let her feet dangle and submerge into the clear water. This clearing was one of the few places where she was allowed to venture alone, an area all to herself. She didn’t really realize until now that the places she had traveled to lie low were always _“blessed”_ with His majesty's beauty. Meg snorted for a second, the idea of God giving a damn amused her.

 

The sun beat down from the opening in the bamboo grove, warming Meg’s meat suit, or she guessed now her own body. Laying back on the grass, she let her eyes close as she breathed in warm air. The feeling of the cold grass against her exposed arms and the trickled of the cool water on her feet helped calm her nerves.

 

_**You should be careful about the way you speak to them.** _

 

Meg’s eyes shot open as she sat up, her body immediately going into a defensive pose. Looking around the clearing for the voice, the only creatures she could make out were the birds and the insects. The hairs on the back of her neck beginning to tingle as the voice once again spoke.

 

**_There is no need to get violent kiddo, but I can understand the hesitation._ **

 

 “Where the hell are you lady? Show yourself!”

 

It was silent for a moment, the hairs on her neck still sensing something. It wasn’t long before the dark figure of a woman materialized from the shadow of the bamboo. She was tall, her skin dark like chocolate and her hair the color of rose wood flowing behind her in a high ponytail. She wore a white shirt with a deep wine colored bow tie, a vest as black as pitch and pants to match. Her gold belt and shoes didn’t shine as she stepped into the light. The women held up her gloved hands, hickory colored fingers wiggling as a wide smile crossed her face, her eyes completely blank, literally. Like newly harvested pearls.

 

Meg lowered her fists, but kept to the balls of her feet, just in case she needed to avoid an attack.

 

 “Who are you?” she asked again. The woman continued to smile as she walked to the raised creek bed, removing her own shoes to place her feet in the water. Meg kept where she stood, cocking her head to to side and raising an eyebrow. She was going to ask once more when the woman finally talked, but not what she wanted to hear.

 

**_You know I was surprised when He asked for your soul. How He wanted me to pull your boat from the river, and remove you from Lethe. I tried to convince Him that you deserved peace, that it was rare for your kind to end up in a boat. You would normally be tossed into the Empty, rather unceremoniously might I add, but left under the lethargic watch of the Other. Or “Cosmic Entity” as he loves to call himself. Pretentious bastard, his brother may be Chaos but that doesn’t mean he has to be a dick._ **

 

The woman turned to gaze at Meg, furrowing her brow at the look of complete confusion plastered against the demoness. A few seconds passed before realization finally dawned on her.

 

**_Oh my Uncle, I’m a dumbass, where are my manners? I’m Oblivion, caretaker of Lethe and the River Styx. Oldest child of the horseman Death and first archreaper. Grand Puba of reincarnation and overseer of destiny, yadda, yadda, yadda. So many useless titles I have to say, but what can you do when God and Death give you the job?_ **

 

Oblivion didn’t seem to realize this time that it was starting to get very awkward, as Meg gazed at her feet, trying to absorb the information vomit the reaper had just regurgitated. Looking back up, Meg jumped. Oblivion was gone, the grass wasn’t even indented. Stepping forward, a sudden pinch grabbed at her arm.

 

Meg shot up screaming, eyes wide and wild as arms quickly wrapped around her frame. The voice of her closest friend and ‘cousin’ softly whispering in her ear.

 

 “I got ya, I got ya, I got ya.”

 

**||•||**

 

“Dominus autem natura, nobis unum sint, ut enim non cessat dolor. Dominus autem natura, nobis unum sint, ut enim non cessat dolor . . .”

 

Hecate repeated these words, eyes pitch and hards consumed by ash of bay leaves, carnation petals, mint, and white sage as the water glowed around Meg. She moved her hands in slow circles up and down Meg’s back, the cracks that broke the ebony scales slowly closing, sealing away her shimmering soul.

   

Meg’s head was hanging low, swaying slightly as a soft tune escaped her lips. The song wasn’t familiar, but the melody was peaceful as they sat in the hot spring. The spring situated in a cave within the mountain, was lit by a few stone lanterns around the edge of the warm pool. The soft orange glow of the fires was calming enough to allow the tension that lined Meg’s body to disappear once she was halfway submerged.

 

Hecate gave one more chant before finally ending, “Hoc volo, sic fiat semper.” Removing her hands from her back, the witch goddess slowly sank her ashen hands into the water, letting the healing herbs continue with what little energy they had left.

 

“That’s it for now, you feeling alright?”

 

“Yeah, I’m peachy.”

 

“Will you hold off on the sarcasm for an hour, Meg? You nearly gave me heart attack when you woke up screaming like that. I’m just trying to be the one decent hell spawn on this damn island.”

 

Meg turned to look at the older demon who was now leaning against the edge of the spring. Hecate’s eyes had yet to return to brown as a result of using so much of her own energy to heal. The smoothness of her serpent like scales was unusual for most demons, shining and reflecting the glow of the lanterns. The look of openness had always made it difficult for Meg to keep up her usual tough “’m gonna use your skull as a coffee mug” attitude. Letting out an annoyed sigh, she sunk deeper into the water. After centuries of being the perfect little girl to Azazel, she had refused to express her emotions in fear of being labeled as weak, yet here she was. She had basically spilled everything to Castiel when she finally made contact with him again. Which was weird cause she didn’t even like him that much (is what she kept telling herself). Heaving another sigh, she finally spoke.

 

“Who do you think brought me back?”

 

The other sat there for a second then shrugged, she had been trying to figure that out herself since they reunited.

 

“Had it ever crossed your mind that maybe, God brought me back?”

 

There was a snort and an incredulous huff, “Yeah like God cares about us. He’s the reason Lilith was the way she was, just because she refused to obey her dumbass husband. So He tossed her to Lucifer, like a bag of spoiled fruit, such an amazing creator.”

 

“But, I think he did. I . . . I met a woman, when you woke me today. She told me that she was an archreaper, whatever that is. She said she was the caretaker of something called Lethe and that God had asked for me specifically.” she gave an exaggerated shrug. “It's probably a load of shit, just forget I said anything, I'm being stupid.”

 

There was a long pause, eyes of the other felt on her face causing her to shift under the intense gaze. Finally casting her eyes to Hecate, Meg was taken aback at the expression. Hecate’s mouth was hanging open slightly, ink black eyes fading to reveal shocked brown iris’. The look of complete astonishment, which slowly morphed into realization as her brows furrowed.

 

“Hecate? You alright?”

 

They were silent for another moment before the older demoness launched from her spot at the springs edge, quickly teleporting, leaving Meg to sit by herself not really knowing what had just happened. Confused is what she would describe as the emotion that was passing through her mind.


	5. Crowns & Halos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural © CW/Kripke
> 
> Original Characters © Me/Zoroastrian17

**Chapter 5: Crowns & Halos**

**||•||**

 

“I hate this.”

 

“In all the years that I’ve known you, this is one of the few things we can agree on.”

 

“Oh will the two of you shut it. Like giant children, let me and your brother work in silence or go complain in a different room.” Rowena snapped at Crowley and Dean as she continued to look through one of the spells Sam had written down for her. Sitting in the dingy motel room, Sam rolled his eyes. Continuing to scan the large spell book he leaned to his left to write down any details.

 

“We’ve been trying to get a read on Lucifer for weeks now. It was easy as hell to find him when people’s insides were turning to mush, then poof nothing. We’ve got jack shit.” Dean leaned back against his headboard and chugged the last of his beer. Sam massaged his temples, closing the book and pushing it to the side for a moment.

 

Dean had a point, Lucifer seemed to blip off the face of the Earth. It had been four months since Chuck and Amara vanished. The devil was leaving nothing but a trail of mutilated bodies in his wake. One guy had even exploded, almost every inch of his penthouse apartment painted in red. Three weeks ago Castiel and Crowley found Rowena, who had sent Lucifer to the bottom of the ocean. It was only a week after when she attacked by a group of demons loyal to the archangel. Sam and Dean had been tracking one of the hell spawns when it met up with its friends. All hoping to get on the good side of their creator. So rescuing the not quite helpless witch brought them to Omaha, Nebraska.

 

While skeptical about working with her, the Winchester's agreed. Tracking the Dark Prince would be easier together, and things would go well. Of course that never happens. With no solid leads, and the angel currently radio silent, they turned to entrapment.

 

“Are you sure there are no spells we could use in the book?” Sam leaned back over the table, rubbing his eyes.

 

“I'm sure,” Rowena sighed. “It focuses on creating and defusing curses, like the Mark of Cain. While there may be one or two I could change to make a containment spell, it would take a long time to perfect.”

 

Dean turned to place his feet on the ground, “And we don't have a lot of time. Damnit.”

 

As he rubbed his hands over his face, his pocket buzzed. Slowly removing it and answering with an annoyed 'what’, Dean straightened.

 

“You did? When . . . Hold on, lemme put you on speaker.” Dean adjusted himself so he was facing the entire room.

 

“What do you have for us, Cas?”

 

“Two days ago, Tish Harris, called saying her step-brother had exploded in her San Francisco apartment. Clay Hanniger, age 32, divorced by his wife of three years moved into his step sister's apartment. Four hours after she went to bed, Miss Harris saw a flash of light and heard the sound of an explosion.”

 

“I'm guessing, Lucifer?”

 

An acknowledging grunt called through the speaker. “When I visited the apartment it felt like the others, angelic residue, powerful. I was able to extract some grace from the remains to create an adequate tracking spell. Adding it to the other bits I extracted from the other crime scenes.”

 

Crowley sneered, “You cheeky bastard, so that’s why you always went back after dark.”

 

The room fell silent for a few seconds before the angel continued to speak, ignoring the demon. “This led me to Los Angeles, California where I met with a man named Thomas Jefferys. I found a report saying that he was thrown through a door and down a hall in Columbus, Ohio by his friend. Vince Vincente.”

 

Sam almost immediately sat up, the attentiveness of a bloodhound on a new scent trail. “Vince Vincente, as in lead singer of Ladyheart, Vince Vincente.”

 

“Yes?” Dean looked up from the phone, an unamused expression crossing his face. He met his brother’s eye line, who seemed like he was about to start vibrating. The older Winchester shook his head, “Sam, please tell me you are not a fan of Butt rock.” The bitch face that followed was expected as Sam cleared his throat.

 

“Anyway, what else do you have, Cas?”

 

“Nothing yet, I’ve been trying to get a hold of Vince’s agent, but so far nothing. How about you, do you have anything to trap him?”

 

No,” Dean replied. “We've checked all the books that we have brought. None of them have a spell that's powerful enough to keep an archangel in check.”

 

“What about the original writer of the book in the Damned?”

 

Rowena rolled her eyes hard, almost like they were trying to climb to the back of her head. For one of the most experienced and battle hardened angels, Castiel seemed rather slow. “She’s been dead for a while dearie, I doubt she could help us, even if we did a seance.

 

A sigh escaped through, showing the angel’s impatience for the witch. “No, the demon that gave her visions. The one who caused her to lock herself in a room and peel off her skin.”

 

“Demon, what demon?”

 

“That would be a bad idea.”

 

“Oh really,” Sam huffed, skeptical. “Who the hell is this demon in the first place?”

 

Crowley’s face darkened, like years of repressed terror slowly came creeping back. His voice was low, deeper and shaking slightly. “She’s old. She was there when Cain choose the knights, she was there when heaven destroyed Gomorrah."

 

“You’ve met her?”

 

“Her name is Hecate, the bloody goddess and queen of witchcraft. I studied under her while I was learning how to properly function as a hell spawn. She helped orchestrate the beginning of the illuminati. They practically worshiped her, the same with the Thule. A monster in her own right, the youngest daughter of-”

 

“Alistair.” All color had drained from Dean’s face, replaced by a pale sheet. His Adam’s apple bobbed, hands shaking as he ran one through his short hair.

 

“Dean?”

 

They were quiet, letting the two men gather themselves. The demon recovered quick upon noticing his own shaky breath. Lifting his head to gaze at the hunter, he let a small smirk rise to his face. He needed a bit of a pick me up. “That’s right, you were the grand torturer’s play thing for forty years in Hell. You most likely had a run in with his favorite child, Vetis.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

The smirk grew. “Wait a minute, was she the one that broke you? Oh this is too good.”

 

“I said shut up!”

 

Dean leapt from the bed, his silver knife already in hand as he shoved it through Crowley’s chest. Sam darted to his brother, grabbing his arms and pulling back. Crowley stood against the wall, shocked, before pulling the knife buried in his chest.

 

“Wow touché.”

 

“If you two are done." Suddenly Castiel was in the room, his trench coat billowing around him. He looked between the hunters and demon, eyes hardening at Crowley. “I suggest summoning the _Temptress_. She would be a bit more reasonable than her younger or older siblings. Naamah is more likely to snap your necks and offer your souls to my brother then help. While Hecate would turn you into her pets. Quite literally from what I've been told.”

 

Dean pushed Sam away and straightened his shirt. Looking at Cas, the angel offered him a short nod, the underlying 'are you alright?’ asked. The hunter replied with his own nod, walking back his bed to pick up his phone.

 

“Okay, you all can meet me at the Sunset Motel in Los Angeles in a few days. From there we can summon Vetis in the warehouse district, away from people. Hopefully we can get her to convince her sisters to help us return Lucifer to the cage.” With the flap of wings, the angel was gone.

 

**||•||**

 

Landing back in his room, her voice was already in his head.

 

_Do you really think you'll be able to beat him again?_

 

He sighed, removing his trench coat to place it on the bed. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, before sitting beside his coat.

 

“I believe that if the _Daughters of Alistair_ agree to join us, we won’t die as quickly.” His voice faded, eyebrows scrunching as he thought. While he had never met the daughters, he was well aware of their power and potential as allies or enemies. He was also suddenly aware that Meg had been living with them for the past several months. Maybe -

 

_I could try to convince them on my side. Naamah and Vetis don’t listen to me, but Hecate might. Just don’t expect me to drag them there, I sure as shit don’t want to get my ass kicked again for you._

 

Castiel felt his gut churn at the reminder. He didn’t need to remember the fact that she had been killed four years prior. He hung his head, carding his hands through his black hair.

 

“I’m not asking you too, and you’re right. I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself, but if you wish to help the Winchesters and I, then I will not stop you.”

 

_I’m not doing this for Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb, they aren’t who I put my faith in._


	6. Brimstone & Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural © CW/Kripke
> 
> Original Characters © Me/Zoroastrian17

**Chapter 6: Brimstone & Roses**

**||•||**

 

Vetis shifted to the right, throwing a hook then following it with a knee to the gut and an elbow to the back of the head. Meg doubled over, arms wrapped around her stomach as she dropped to her knees. The older demon circled, a sneer on her face, vermilion eyes watching as the younger demon slowly began to rise once more, coughing and wiping blood from her face. Onyx eyes showing nothing but pure hatred, a primal rage building.

 

Bouncing from foot to foot, the crossroads queen brought her fists up, eyes once again brimming with the sadistic pleasure of beating her ‘uncle's’ favorite daughter. Meg stood up straight, rotating her shoulders before mimicking the other. Keeping to the balls of her feet, Meg pounced, throwing two quick jabs and upper cut. Each did little to deter Vetis who quickly blocked before grabbing Meg’s wrist on another jab and throwing the smaller demon over her shoulder and pinning her to the mat.

 

“Nice try princess.”

 

“I’m gonna kill you.”

 

“I’d like to see you try.” Vetis twisted Meg onto her stomach, pulling the arm she still held backwards. A smile spread across her face as she pulled harder, a strangled gasp escaping Meg, who tried to flip over to her back.

 

“You know what?” She chuckled. “I’ll let you go if you tell me something.”

 

“Oh really?”

 

“Yeah, I keep my deals. Who were you talking to last night? ‘Cause I know it wasn’t me or my sisters. Naamah was torturing one of Crowley’s men and Hecate was too busy being a mad scientist. I was in Russia having lunch with Putin, so who was it? Nothing bad will happen, you can trust me on that.”

 

Meg gave an exasperated huff and rolled her eyes, “And what if I tell you to get bent?”

 

“Then I dislocate every joint starting with this one.” There was a sickening crack as Vetis stepped on Meg’s shoulder blade and yanked her arm upwards. A gut wrenching scream flew from the younger demon’s mouth as her arm was dropped to the ground, limp. Stepping back to watch Meg curled into a ball, she crossed her arms and crouched down, head tilting. She huffed, “I want to know their name, now. Don’t make me hurt you again, Proserpine, you know I’ll do worse.” A large glob of spit splattered against her cheek and nose, as Meg growled, “Don’t call me that, bitch.”

 

Wiping her face, Vetis glowered in return, pulling her fist back to strike when it was grabbed.

 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?”

 

Hecate grabbed the back of her older sister’s head, smashing it into the ground, breaking through the mat. In a split second the two demons were grappling. Blood quickly covering the floor as silver blades were drawn.

 

Vetis ducked, sticking into Hecate, the blade going all the way to the hilt. Hecate let out a monstrous roar and jammed her own blade through her sister’s neck, blood coating her arm. Vetis reared back, the blade carving a jagged gash across her throat. The fountain of blood covered the two younger demons as Vetis stumbled back, clawing at her throat. Hecate rushed forward, tackling her older sister, before bringing down a hail of fists.

 

Meg watched in fear. Sure she had seen demons charge at each other like starved animals, but the two demonesses she had looked up to in hell, this was worse than any hallucinogenic torture she had been put through.

 

There was another startling roar, the pounding of flesh against flesh stopping. The sight of Naamah, eyes black, the shadowed image of her true form over taking her meat suit as she surged forward. Grabbing Hecate by the nape of her neck, the younger demon was rocketed through the screen door of the dojo and into one of the meditation rooms. Turning to Vetis, Naamah cradled her head, the wet, fragmented voice doing nothing but allowing more blood to flow from her partial _Colombian Neck tie_.

 

From were Meg sat, there was nothing but a mess up red. Her nasal ridge had been pounded into her head, pieces of crimson bone sticking through, jagged and sharp. He jaw was slack, oriented way too far to the right, teeth missing or sticking through her lips. There was no way for the crossroads queen to heal. She would need a new host body.

 

Slowly moving to stand, she could hear Naamah’s strangled voice, attempting to sooth the pain that her sister was enduring. Finally, on her feet, Meg slowly made her way to the hole in the screen.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Shivers ran down her spine. Slowly turning to look, a vise grip suddenly took hold of her throat. She was lifted off the ground, held up until her head touched the ceiling. Fear seeped out of every pore, filling the room with the musky scent of dread.

 

“You are going to pay for what has happened to my sister. You are weak. I don’t even know why we brought you back here, you’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side since you regained your powers. Nothing but a spoiled brat. Azazel would have been ashamed of what you have become. A soft, pathetic, useless waste of space. I should have killed you when I knew you were to much trouble.”

 

Meg’s eyes began to roll back, blotches of darkness overcoming her vision.

 

“I might as well pull the thorn out and be done with you.”

 

The next few seconds seemed to blur. She didn’t know when she had sent out the prayer, but one minute she was pressed against the ceiling, fearing for her life. The next she was on the ground, heaving and struggling for oxygen. She could feel a new presence standing over her, power surging as Naamah let out a gasp. A deep voice spoke, low and threatening. Commanding fear in those who dared question or disobey. She had heard this voice once.

 

She knew this voice.

 

As the blotches ate away at her vision, large hands took her by the shoulders and scooped her up. The familiar hum of grace was a welcomed invite as the wind and space around them bent and she slipped into her own darkness.

 

**||•||**

_His hands ran down her sides. Her hands tangled in his hair. The ocean lapping at their legs and the warm sand depressing under their weight._

_Their mouths worked in tandem. Not quite as aggressive as the last time, intimate almost. Or maybe it was, as he broke the kiss to stare up at her, his deep blue eyes sparking in the sun light. She would say that there were hints of gold, dancing in the azure. When he gazed at her, endless brown holding his reflection. He would way that there was silver, thin lines around the edges, sparking when she laughed suddenly._

_Like a beautiful song, something you would remember for the rest of your life. A harmony he couldn’t help but join as he rolled her over so he was on top. Their laughter died, a grin and half lidded eyes watching as he brought down his head and pressed it against hers._

_“What’s got you in such a good mood, Clarence?”_

_He chuckled. “I don’t know.”_

_“Well, I like it.”_

_“I do too.”_

_He once again pressed his lips against hers, just as gentle as before, not that she would complain._

**_You two are adorable._ **

****

_Meg jerked away from Castiel, who rolled off of her and materialized his angel blade. It took Meg a second before recognizing the black vest and rose wood hair that sat in the angel and demon’s beach chairs._

_“Oblivion? The hell are you doing here?”_

_Castiel looked to her in confusion, “The archreaper?” Oblivion smiled and gave a little bow._

**_It’s always nice to be recognized, no matter how infrequent. But hey, it is what it is._** She smiled down at them. **_I’m sorry, I gotta cut this dream of yours short, princess._**

_Raising her hand, Oblivion snapped, Castiel disappearing in a puff of rainbow glitter. Meg sighed and shook her head, lifting herself out of the sand and climbing the sand dune. At the top, the archreaper smiled, snapping once more and changing her outfit to that of a men’s 1930s bathing suit. Once again black, red and white. Meg took a towel from her seat and sat down, huffing indignantly._

_Oblivion sighed, pulling a beer from the cooler between the chairs. Removing the cap and taking a sip, they sat in silence for a while, the ocean breeze alleviating some tension. It was peaceful, Meg enjoyed peaceful._

**_After that fight, I doubt the_ ** **‘Daughters of Alistair’ _will assist in dropping Lucifer back in his hole._**

_And there went the peace. Meg slouched, getting her own beer._

_“Well I don’t care. Clarence doesn’t need them; I know just as much about the cage as them. I can do better.”_

_Oblivion looked over._

**_You mean ‘Clarence and the Winchesters don’t need them.’_ **

_“Screw the Winchesters, they left me to die.” She chugged half her beer. “They didn’t look for me for nearly two years. After I watched over their wayward angel for months, and after I distracted the Leviathan when they wanted to kill Roman. When I finally saw them again, I got shit from Dean and some concealed hatred from Sam. And when they ran, they hopped in that boat of a car, stared at me, then left. The bastards didn’t even tell Castiel that I was dead. After everything I did for them!”_

**||•||**

Her fist rapped against his cheek. There was barely a second between her pinched face as she dreamed and the black eyes as she surged forward. He stumbled back, knocking the chair he was seated in over, surprised by her sudden aggression. She pulled herself from under the blanket, hands balled while she searched the room for her attacker. When her gaze landed of Castiel, the animalistic snarl that was etched across her face faded. For a moment they were silence, staring at each other before she crawled to the edge of the bed. Her eyes still dark as she stood.

 

Meg walked forward until they were practically chest to chest. Castiel could feel her warm breath against his neck, the dark abyss that consumed her eyes entrancing him.

 

“Castiel?” Her voice quivered. She reached up, stopping short, her finger tips grazing his cheek. Closing his eyes, he pressed his face into her hand, unconsciously breathing in her scent. It wasn’t as strong as before, but the smell of brimstone still clung to her body. He could feel thorns pressing against him, the smell of roses making its way through the thick stench. Opening his eyes, he spied the dark rose that sat in the middle of her forehead between her horns. His eyes trailed down her face to look at her own, once again deep brown.

 

Up until he stood before Naamah, Castiel thought they he would not see her again. Or at least not for some time. The way Meg slumped against him when he picked her up, how shallow her breath was when he placed her on the motel bed. How she barley moved as he pulled a chair to the bed and sat beside her, his gaze hard while he watched her sleeping form. Having her awake now, eyes wide and watching him as closely as he once did minutes before. It made his grace swell with …  something

 

“Hello.”

 

A grin creeped across her face as she chuckled. He couldn’t stop himself from joining as a smile broke out and his deep laughter drifted through the room. Castiel knew they sounded manic, he couldn’t care less.


	7. Surprise, Surprise!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural © CW/Kripke  
> Original Characters © Me/Zoroastrian17

**Chapter 7: Surprise, Surprise!**  
  
**||•||**  
  
Sam thought over the ingredients, pulling weapons from the trunk and placing them in a duffle. They need white sage, blood from a child of the crossroads, fur of a black cat, and Snowdonia Hawkweed.  
  
The sage, blood, and cat fur would be relatively easy to come by. Sage could be found at any grocery store. Crowley’s blood would be sufficient enough, seeing how he is a crossroads demon. And simply going to a pet store for the fur was just a hop, skip, and a jump into town. It was the Hawkweed that was the issue. The plant was rarer then hell. Only a single bush grew in a remote part of Wales.  
  
_“Count on Vetis to choose a rare plant to use in her ritual. She was always a clever girl.”_ Crowley said before he and Rowena blipped off to find the thing.  
  
Sam zipped up the duffle, hefting his own over his shoulder and shutting the trunk. Walking to the front of Baby, Dean came strolling out of the dark lot with their motel keys.  
  
“Not the worst place we’ve stayed, but you’d think Dickhead McGee would keep the lights working. Fucking hate LA. The air is terrible, the roads are always crowded, and the people are dicks. So high up on their horses they probably can’t even hear us down here.” The taller Winchester chuckled, earning a punch to the arm.  
  
“Move it, we’re room 12.” Dean called. Sam continued to smile as he followed his brother.  
  
“Did you call Cas?” Sam asked, walking down the row of doors. Dean shook his head, eventually making it to their room.  
  
“No, Dickhead kept rambling on about a photo he took with George Clooney. Would not shut up about how he smelled like cinnamon, kinda wanted to get away.” Sliding in the key, they entered, only to be greeted by the sound of their next door neighbors. Dean threw up his hands in exasperation, gesturing to the wall.  
  
“See what I mean, fucking high horse! People don’t have the decency to tone it the fuck down.” He turned to the wall.  
  
“Some of us wanna sleep!”  
  
That didn’t seem to stop the couple who were going at it, if not louder this time. Sam huffed and walked to his bed, dumping the weapons and his clothes. Pulling his cell out of his back pocket, he dialed Castiel.  
  
The phone rang for thirty seconds before Castiel finally answered.  
  
“ _Now … Is not … a good … time, Sam._ ”  
  
“Umm, are you alright? You sound out of breath.”  
  
There was a pause.  
  
“ _What is it you want, Samuel?_ ”  
  
Yeah, something was off. “Well, we just got our room and were wondering where you were.”  
  
There was a sigh through the speaker that had Sam quirking an eyebrow. Once again the angel sighed before answering, “ _I’m in room 13._ ”  
  
“What?”  
  
“ _Room 13_.”  
  
His face became beat red as he turned to his brother, eyes wide.  
  
“So that’s you in the next room?”  
  
The line was silent for a moment, then, in the blink on an eye, he was right in the middle of the room. Dean jumped, about to cuss out the angel when the Winchester took in his appearance.  
  
Black hair was pointing in every direction, skin a light pink, and his pupils blown, glowing softly. There was a bruise forming in the side of his neck, surrounded by a bloody bite mark. The man wasn’t even fully clothed. Standing there in his grey boxers, deep claw marks raked down his chest and back.  
  
It was awkward. Three men standing in a dingy motel room. Two being brothers, two having a “profound bond”, and one in nothing but his underwear. Castiel noticed the awkward way the brothers had everted their gazes. He tilted his head, a confused eyebrow raised as he cleared his throat.  
  
“I’m sensing awkwardness.”  
  
“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Could you put on some pants?”  
  
The angel looked down, eyes widening for a second before he flapped to the room over. The brothers kept quiet, staring at each other for a long moment, both unable to speak. The sight of their friend almost completely naked was now seared into their brains. Finally, Sam cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair then over his face.  
  
“So.”  
  
“ _So._ ”  
  
Another silence passed between the brothers as Sam’s phone buzzed. Looking down at his cell, he read the text, a confused look graced his face.  
“Cas wants us to go to his room.”  
  
It was now Dean’s turn perplexed, “What? No. He was just banging some chick, I ain’t going in there. I don’t know what kind of shit he’s into and I damn sure don’t want to see it.”  
  
Dean pouted for a moment before the flutter of wings sounded once more. Castiel was in the room, this time, he had on his dress pants and a white undershirt. His face was solid as he reached out. Grabbing Dean by the elbow then Sam by the shoulder, and before they knew it they were next door. And it was a mess. Like someone had actually started a fight and people were thrown around. The window side table was broken in half, there were several indents in the walls by the bathroom. The only two lamps were across the room, and the bed looked torn to ribbons. The comforter was off the bed and the mattress had stuffing sticking out. There were red stains on the sheets. Turning to the man between them, the brothers could not believe he had caused this much chaos with one girl. Speaking of which.  
  
“Is she alright?”  
  
Castiel released them, squinting at the taller hunter, then turning to look at the other. Surveying the room, taking in the destruction, he suddenly realized that they might have gone a bit overboard. But before he could speak, the bathroom door creaked open.  
  
“Oh she’s alright, in fact, she really needed that.”  
  
Their heads whirled to the woman standing in the door, breath catching in their throat. This had to be some kind of trick, an illusion, Rune of Amaranth. They gawked at the woman. Her hair was no longer blond or curly for that matter. Black hair flowed over her shoulders, a bright red bite mark peeking out on her shoulder. There were deep purple marks on her thighs that looked just like fingers. For a few moments the four of them stood in silence before Dean snapped out of his stupor and pulled out an angel blade.  
  
“How the hell are you alive?” He sneered before taking a threatening step forward. As much as he could intimidate, Meg stood against the doorframe, a smirk still on her lips. When the older Winchester lifted the blade higher, Castiel took hold on his arm once more.  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
“Why the hell not? She’s a damn demon, and the last time I checked, we kill demons.”  
  
“Dean, I’m warning you.”  
  
Meg watched them argue (or rather Dean argue), casually walking into the room to gather her pants and shirt. She slipped back into the bathroom, throwing a wink to Sam before closing the door.  
  
The room got quiet, the men staring at the door. Dean yanked his arm from the angel’s grasp, keeping the blade in his hand. The hardened gaze of Castiel was met by the hunter, who tried to keep his lips from curling as he spoke.  
  
“How the hell is she alive, and why were you fucking a demon!?”  
  
“That is none of your concern, Dean. Our business is ours and ours alone. You have no say.”  
  
“The hell I don’t! She’s a fucking demon bitch! Angels and demons are supposed to kill and attack each other, not get off on the other.”  
  
“Dean . . .”  
  
“You watch your tone with me, Winchester. We may be friends, but our bond will not stop me for knocking you unconscious. She deserves far more credit and respect then you are currently giving her.”  
  
“Cas . . .”  
  
“Oh bullshit! You’re only saying that cause your fucking pussy whipped. You got to stick your dick in it and now you refuse to see that what you’re doing is wrong. It goes against the laws of nature, hell, the laws of God. I doubt Chuck likes what you’ve been doing with the bitch.”  
  
“Guys . . .”  
  
“My father was the one to bring her back, he told me so himself. If he cared so little, why would he do that?”  
  
“GUYS!”  
  
The hunter and seraph snapped their heads to the other man, anger and rage in both their eyes. Sam lifted his hands defensively, “Can we calm down, please? Before you both do something you’ll regret.” That was almost enough to get them to take a step back from one another, Sam becoming a barrier between them. Castiel and Dean continued to glare daggers at each other. Meg sauntered out after a minute, running fingers through her ebony hair. Looking up, she smiled wide, unnervingly pleased with either herself.  
  
Moving to the bed, she sat down and crossed her legs, folding her hands in her lap expectantly. There was probably a more elaborate word to describe the current situation. But at the moment, with Sam standing between his brother and his friend, Meg watching with a mischievous look in her eye, awkward would have to work.  
  
Dean pushed himself away from his brother, popping his collar before walking to the mini bar. Narrowing his eyes at the older hunter, Castiel went for his dress shirt that hung on the back of a chair. Letting his shoulders sagged, Sam let out an exasperated sigh, moving to sit beside Meg. Putting his face in his hands he let out another sigh before looking over, hazel eyes watching brown.  
  
“How are you alive? I saw you die.”  
  
“Wow, don’t sound so disappointed, I might think you don’t like me.”  
  
“I’m not - “  
  
The demon chuckled, startling the hunter. Not the usual dark sarcastic laugh he was used to. This was actually genuine. “I’m messing with you Skywalker, and I did but … Surprise! I’m back from the dead! Isn’t that exciting?” Giving a short huff in amusement, he shook his head, leaning his arms against his knees. Sam watched his brother throwback a shot, eyes again locked with the angel, who was rolling up his sleeves. His fists clenching and unclenching. He couldn’t remember the last time his brother and Cas were like this, the almost palpable disappointment passing between them. Resting his head in his hand, he looked back to Meg.  
  
“How long have you been walking with the living?”  
  
She shrugged, pulling her left leg up on the bed, hooking her ankle under her other knee. “Four months, give or take a week. Been stuck on an island the whole time.”  
  
“Okay.” He nodded, drawing out the word. “Do you know what’s going on right now? I mean has Cas told you that Lucifer is out of the Cage again.”  
  
“Oh yes, he has told me. No offense, but bang up job there. Just what the world needs, the universe's largest child set loose to throw another temper tantrum.”  
  
The loud clack of glass of glass against wood echoed from the other side of the room. Dean marched his way to stand in front of the demoness, who stood to meet him.  
  
“You don’t get to judge us! Not after you followed his orders, and slaughter people for him. You killed Ellen and Jo,” Dean yelled, twisting to glare down at his brother. “Do you not fucking remember that?! She set her hounds on us and Jo was torn to shreds, don’t try to be friends with this bitch.” Grabbing the front of Meg’s shirt, Dean practically lifted her off the ground, bring her to his face. A growl exited his throat when her face didn’t change, no emotions gracing her features, but she did grab his wrists. Slowly she began to twist, the popping of his joints, the hiss of discomfort as they were rotated. She didn’t even blink when he finally lowered her and let go of her shirt. No, she continued to turn his wrists in opposite directions, bringing Dean to his knees before her.  
  
Sam stood, grabbing at her arm. “Meg, let go.” Gradually turning her head, her eyes went black as she looked between his face and the hand that gripped her.  
  
“You watch how you talk to me Winchester,” She directed to Dean, eyes now locked with Sam’s.  
  
“I may be a bit friendlier with you two, but I will slit your throat if you push me. And I gave you an easy way, and you took the hard way. If anything, you should be blaming yourself for their rather explosive deaths. If you hadn’t shot my hound, they might still be here. Don’t dump your shit on me, Princess.”  
  
Finally letting him go, Dean crumpled to the ground, folding his arms to his chest. Meg turned, looking up at Sam, her deep brown eyes once again meeting hazel.  
  
“I’m not here to piss in your cereal or to get thrown under the ‘man pain’ bus. I’m here to put Lucifer down and away, so pull you head out of your ass and tell me what you’ve got.”


End file.
